


Purified

by Moonlight_Uni



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Medical, Bodily Fluids, Bodily Functions, Boys Kissing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Catheters, Cryogenics, Dubcon Kissing, Explicit Language, Forced Masturbation, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hydra (Marvel), I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Marvel 616 (Freeform), Masturbation, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Jargon, Medical Trauma, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Pain, Trust Issues, brock rumlow - Freeform, caring brock rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4025929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlight_Uni/pseuds/Moonlight_Uni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre cryo had prepared themselves for what was to come next, slave driven into their routines by superiors with no sense of how to handle people because their next undertaking was a delicate one. However delicate the weapon might have been at that stage, the treatment which it would receive was far from such and in that spectrum there was no time for sympathetic handling.</p>
<p>One off AU piece between Bucky and Rumlow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purified

Pre cryo had prepared themselves for what was to come next, slave driven into their routines by superiors with no sense of how to handle people because their next undertaking was a delicate one. However delicate the weapon might have been at that stage, the treatment which it would receive was far from such and in that spectrum there was no time for sympathetic handling. Underneath all the thick rubber gloves worn by the medical team were iron fists; lacking care, devoid of gentle touch completely. Chief of the operation was under express orders to not damage the weapon during it's unpacking but he could never promise anything and neither was he prepared to take responsibility if his underlings inflicted injury. So much for the sympathy of HYDRA medics. 

In those early, dark days of HYDRA's infancy the cryogenics were crude, overcomplicated and took a lifetime to shut down so their weapon was made available for processing. Things would eventually get better but for now the team had to make the best of what they had because no one was pumping money into the HYDRA machine when it wasn't worth it. Post war funds were given to greater things than the underbelly of Europe's Soviet spy operation.

Drainage alone took a solid forty minutes by which time Rumlow had made an appearance just to make sure his men didn't take a shine to this one like they did the last. HYDRA seemed expert at ignoring the sexual exploits made against the last thing they took out of cryo and as a result it didn't last long. Eventually the weakling agent, stolen from someplace north of Berlin, broke down because one of Rumlow's minions thought raping the poor fuck in it's sleep was a smart idea. Thanks to that incident Rumlow lost his man to a firing squad and HYDRA lost their asset. 

As soon as there was clearance to breathe he gasped, choking on the stagnant air in a heaving effort that pulled harshly at his chest. Immediate mental recollection gave no name nor memory for who or even what he was except for a barrage of sensation, pain and a scarred weight to the left. Dark, tangled hair formed a wet lattice across his features as the asset made a note of the arm weighing down his weakened form before those sunken eyes rolled back under flickering lids. Shock had taken over the weapon's form and he fell, crumpled to a chilled, unclothed heap onto the cryo fluid stained floor. No one was there to catch him despite the number in the room though the one man to notice him, Rumlow, stepped forward to take charge.

While the asset was under post cryogenics had a disgusting but necessary list of procedures to get through even though their methods had a habit of being rushed, botched up so badly that non medics had to correct the shit afterwards. The weapon's designated handler, Brock, was soon to discover this one the limp body had been hosed off while he was semi conscious. Through all the white water foaming in the dirty wet room he spotted the remains of a catheter tube still jammed up inside the asset's urethra. Raising his voice he put an immediate stop to the cleansing stage and crushed the agent against the nearest wall, cracking tiles on impact.

From behind him, just out of his ear shot, the STRIKE leader could hear disorientated groans, blurred by the draining of water down into a nearby channel. Somewhere under all that soaked, cold skin was someone trying to get out but Brock had to ignore it while he had a useless fuck practically strangled in his gloved hand. 

The medic was clearly terrified of what Rumlow could do to him and he knew there was little use in vomiting up excuses to a man with no temper control plus a means to kill him without a sound. And now the pathetic shit was starting to cry, clearly not cut for the job, which made Rumlow let him go with an angry shove.

“Get the fuck out of here” he growled with an exposure of his shark like teeth which was met with immediate compliance from the emotionally weak man. The door was left hanging on it's hinge by the useless medic, swinging back against the tiles inside the hallway. Shrugging his shoulders Rumlow went to pay attention to his charge who was in a limp state, lacking motivation to move or even live at this point. After squatting down Brock swept one forearm under the soldier's legs, the other used to support his back and he picked him up.

Perhaps in all the cold and evil spreading through the HYDRA atmosphere he was the only one who showed a sliver of care towards the asset. For now all he could do was bring his charge back to a working state, reinstate some continuity to his mind and give him someone to take trust. Even trust was a difficult, uncomfortable word in HYDRA circles because everyone wanted the man next to them dead for some reason or another. Paranoia was the mental staple of many who worked for the organisation simply because it was the norm. 

Brock retreated to the practical surrounds of his bunk room and locked the door after he'd placed the asset on his bed. For a moment he watched the barely awake soldier curl back in on himself against the scratchy grain of the linens, creasing them around his form. The door was then locked and Brock went to sit beside his charge to see what HYDRA's team of misfits had really done to him for himself. He pulled the soldier up against his chest, supporting him under one arm to make him sit up since it would aid his breathing and post cryo recovery. Listening to him, mentally named as Zima, Brock could hear how hard it was for the soldier to draw breath but there was silent hope it would improve because of the serum they'd used to accelerate the asset's immune system.

Next on Rumlow's list was to get rid of that god damn catheter from Zima's penis and clear out his bladder. Though none of this would be pleasant for any of them it was necessary as much as it was to keep him functional for HYDRA's requirements so Brock kept his charge supported while he used the other hand to slide the plastic tubing from the sore orifice. It was quickly discarded and Zima was pulled to consciousness with a pained groan that shook his chest and he dug metal fingers into Brock's arm in effort to fight it off. Rumlow held him fast and rested his stubbled shin on the soldier's metal shoulder. 

“I need you to listen to me soldier.” The words were more requirement than command but they were met with a dull nod from Zima in response to them which satisfied Brock enough for the time being. 

Zima was in a compliant state, eyes sullen and blank as he just allowed himself to be pulled into a seated position between Rumlow's firm thighs on the bed. Those legs raised to form a cradle around the soldier, keeping him stable without the need for hands to be used because Rumlow would need at least one of those free. The medics had obviously not taken into the consideration that their soldier would need his internals cleared out or else he'd be in a lot of pain for a long time but Brock needed to remedy that himself. He was no stranger to such an act and as naturally as it were his own junk, he slid a hand down between Zima's legs and took his limp penis into a firm hand. The soldier perked up a little, becoming aware of what Brock was doing to him with the stroking motion but he didn't fight it; he couldn't because Rumlow was his keeper now. And that was all Zima knew to trust. 

The soldier's body knew how to respond as Rumlow stroked him gently, flacid becoming rigid in state under the administration of contact and Zima made quiet noises from behind a mostly closed mouth. Rumlow was only doing this to clear out the network of delicate connective tubes that would enable normal bladder functionality besides other things as he brought his charge to a state of arousal. He thumbed over the crown of the asset's erection, massaging him and the pearly fluid beading there, pressing down using the pad of his calloused digit which drew a grunt from Zima. However Brock held him securely between his thighs and worked his hand with a further degree of vigour. 

It wasn't long before the privacy of Brock's room was invaded by the sounds of orgasm and the heady perfume of sex, swimming with testosterone as the soldier spilled over Brock's hand and onto his stomach. Brock had to gently cover Zima's mouth with his other hand just in case the sounds escaped because soundproofing around HYDRA was something so often neglected. Fingers were a poor means for dulling out the sound as Brock's soldier reached his orgasm – probably the first he'd had since before they fished him out of the river – but Brock allowed his charge the release. Afterwards he gently cleaned him up with a damp rag, wiping away the spills of sex from both his hand and Zima's body with a surprising tenderness. 

Once the soldier was clean and relatively awake Brock brought him some spare clothes from one of the drawers in his room and there was a brief exchange of silence between them both as the attire was handed over. It appeared now his silent charge was purified of his mind fog he didn't recognise the need to be clothed; at least not yet. Zima remained a quiet, stoic state, sitting compliant on the edge of Brock's bed expecting direction until it was given. Brock crouched down in front of him and laid a hand to Zima's folded knee. 

“I'll help you this time Zima but after that you do it yourself.” Brock made eye contact with the other soldier, hand absently stroking his knee. “You understand?”

Coughing to clear his throat the asset nodded then finally spoke. “I understand” he answered showing just a faint hint of Russian to his voice. That in itself was strange but perhaps HYDRA had just wanted it that way so they rewired him enough to have their own way. 

A short time later Brock had helped his charge into a pair of worn combats, black tank top and shown him how to tie back the uneven choppy hair he'd been left with. Apparently HYDRA wanted it long so Brock guided Zima in the method to keep it from his face temporarily with a skein of elastic. It was haunting how after a little care and practical attention from Brock, of just how human the soldier appeared again despite his designated purpose of Soviet killing machine as they studied each other in the mirror. Brock turned on his charge, letting his guard slip so he could become a little more personal with the soldier now in his care. Cradling a hand to the soft stubble peppering the soldier's cheek he treated his skin with a brief caress and compliance overtook the asset, making him lean into the contact. 

Tenderness, kindness or even care were so rare around these parts that Brock felt a flickering of guilt for exhibiting these traits to his soldier by extending some humanity to him but he felt it was necessary. He needed the soldier to trust him in every aspect to guide him, show the way things were meant to be done because at the fragile stage Zima was he was open to influence from all the wrong people. Brock wanted to be the only influence Zima felt he could trust, could rely on under harsh circumstances no matter what the medics or HYDRA wanted. 

Brock had extended some of himself to Zima, tended to him and the final seal on the level of trust he had for his soldier was lifting his jaw to enable him to initiate a kiss. It was only brief as he pressed his chapped mouth to Zima's chapped full lips but it was just enough for the message to register. 

He had Zima's back until the end of the line.

**Author's Note:**

> Zima - Russian phonetic for winter


End file.
